The Great Date
Summary: After being told that she has a week to live, humanized Raindance does what any other normal person would do. She goes on a date with Galvatron. And yes, it is as bad as it sounds... '''Lounge/Observation Room ''Converted from an unused medical observation room, the lounge still offers a view of the Repair Bay through a one-way plexisteel mirror that encompasses almost half of the east wall. Sound, too, is transmitted from the Repair Bay, allowing the friends of the injured to see and hear what's going on without distracting the medics from their delicate work. More than that, it's also a place to rest and relax, furnished with comfortable chairs, various video feeds of both Terran and Cybertronian style entertainment, and an automated bar dispensing energon for those who want to relax with some refreshments. Rhiannon Slim-Dhance wanders in after Powerglide. "Hey Powerglide, your box is on fire!" she calls, flicking a lighter and throwing it at Powerglide's stupid box. "You'll never get a new one!" Powell Glyde evades your grasp attack. Alice Wyatt pouts a bit, "I wish my box was on fire." Powell Glyde grabs his box and pulls it out of the way. Why did he even bother bringing it? "Ha! You may not know this, but I have many boxes! Each one with its own interior decorator!" "No Powerglide" states Rhiannon clearly. "You have /one/ box, Powerglide. Only one." Alice Wyatt says, "Yeah man up and make a decision." Ulysses M. Agnus. is waiting near the door for the initial wave of meatobots. His face a grave and serious mask. He nods at first to Peace Kepher and then attempts to do the same to Powell.. only to recoil in disgust, "By the Matrix Powerglide, has noone introduced you to a shower.. or a hose?!" he exclaims, compleatly ignoring that Raindance had attempted to set a fire inside Autobot city.. or that they were all slowly dying on the inside. Cliffjumper wanders in, carrying a crate about the size of his own body, filled to the brim with Lil Hugs, those adorable little gaudily-colored plastic juice doses shaped like barrels with foil lids. "Uh, where do I put the human food so you guys can put it in your weird, wet mouths?" Rhiannon Slim-Dhance raises her hand. It has been weary, travelling around the city and setting fire to every box that has 'Powerglide' scrawled across it. "Oh, give them all to me Cliffjumper, I can drink them all, okay!" she says cheerily Powell Glyde scratches at his greasy hair, frowning the entire time. "Yeah, yeah, heard it already.." He snorts, "I TRIED to bathe in one of those park fountains or whatever, but they kicked me out once I took off my pants, I don't understand." Cliffjumper dutifully sets them down. There are approximately one billion Lil Hug juicebarrels in there. To drink them all would cause someone to get adult-onset diabetes and die. Cliffjumper does not know this -- like most sapient beings in 2029, he truly believes diabetes is a myth. "Here ya go." Peace Kepher sighs and takes a seat at a different area of the lounge--still a part of the group, but that's about it. "Magnus, what's going on?" She asks the City Commander directly, ignoring the drinks and the... less-adapted members of those who'd been humanized. Rhiannon Slim-Dhance takes one of the juice boxes, and pours several sachets of sugar into it, as if she were The Fly. She starts to suck the delicious sugary liquid out. "Mmph mpph mpppph!" she says to Cliffjumper, which translates as 'Thanks Cliffjumper, I'll give you a carwash later!' "We're going to need to get you sanitized soldier.." muttered Magnus, rubbing at his temples. He struggled with ways he could explain this to them.. and then Peacekeeper asked him directly, "We're dying, Peacekeeper... and the only apparent way to prevent it is to turn the autobots opver to a hidden, conquering race of aliens." The direct approach. Cliffjumper gives Rhiannon a thumbs-up, and then leans on the gigantic crate. Unfortunately, this squashes an entire level of the eleven-foot-tall crate of juiceboxes, spraying delicious, tooth-rotting fruit-syrup-juice all over Rhiannon. "Aw, hell. Wait, you guys are dying? Since when?" Silverbolt is standing off in the corner, with his arms crossed. Rhiannon Slim-Dhance squeals as her clothes get drenched, becoming skin-tight and sticking to her as the transparent material sticks to her skin. "Oh /Cliffjumper/!" she exclaims, slapping the minibot and rolling her eyes. Then she looks to Magnus. "Wow Andi was right about eating too much salt..." Powell Glyde drops his box with a light 'thud', "D-dying!? W-what!? I can't die! I haven't convinced a human female to reproduce with me yet!" He buries his face in his hands, "Noooo!" Peace Kepher pales a few shades as her brain has to take a bit of time to catch up to what her ears are hearing. "What?!" She asks, for once looking completely shocked at this news. She lifts up her glasses and rubs her eyes with one hand, then readjusts the corrective lenses as her eyes steel--as in literally turn a steel color rather than their usual grey-blue color. "Sir, maybe you should start at the beginning. What happened that suddenly put a time-limit on our already-suddenly-shortened life-expectancy?" Silverbolt says, "We had an inspector come by and demand that we turn over control of the earth to them." Rhiannon Slim-Dhance walks over to Powerglide and rubs his back with her soaking arm. "There there Powerglide, there there." She starts to pat him harder and harder, smacking him. "THERE THERE!" She then turns to Silverbolt and gives a big thumbs up. "Thanks Bolty, that explains it all!" Powell Glyde evades your grasp attack. Cliffjumper helpfully notes, "We /do/ have a cryogenics lab. I mean, if you guys aren't gonna get your stuff together in time. I hear humans can do that." He nods soundly, and looks over at Silverbolt. "What, and you believed him?" Powell Glyde doesn't even notice Raindance's poor attempt at abusing him, "This sucks! I think I'm just going to hide in my box and wait for DEATH!" He sniffs a bit and then looks at Silverbolt, "And who gave that inspector the power to demand things like that?" Silverbolt says, "Since the old inspector is dead and this one was cloned by an alien life form. Apparently the same that made your bodies." Ulysses M. Agnus. did not relish the idea of having to retell this story several times over.. He'd have to make it good. Once Silverbolt gave the jist of the story he followed on, "Yes.. aswell as surrendering ourselves into their military. They have claimed that they will return those affected to their rightful states aswell as preserving our lives." he reported, hoping that this was as unpleasent a option to them as it was to him. "If we refuse then not only will our bodies fail us by the end of the week but they have claimed to be willing to engage in a war of stealth that will wipe out the remaining forces.. Our bodies are currently locked away in what they call Oord space.. but what we call Sub-space.. I assume that Monstereo and others are already looking into this. I tell you now that I have no intention to surrender." Rhiannon Slim-Dhance raises her hand. "Uh, do you know if its okay if they keep my body, I rather like this one." She pats her beam locators lovingly. "I mean, yeah, limbs and all!" She leans to Powerglide. "And I've got something that will LIFT YOUR SPIRITS Powerglide!" Powell Glyde quirks an eyebrow at Raindance, trying to back away, only he can't because Cliffjumper has to be a clumsy bastard and knock diabetes-induced syrup all over the floor. "What? You're going to reproduce with me?" Cliffjumper frowns, especially at being called a clumsy bastard in the above pose as he reads it. He then returns his attention to the matter at hand: "So, you, uh, got any proof that this ain't some Decepticon fakery, Magnus?" Everyone is standing about being told that they will die by Magnus, like a prophet of doom. Rhiannon is covered in sticky syrup :( Peace Kepher's mood sours noticeably at Silverbolt and Magnus' explainations. As if things weren't bad enough... "Well, those demands are a bit one-sided... it's not as if we /intended/ to get stuck in these human forms," she comments darkly. She mutters something under her breath over the simple comm-link the EDC had provided them with, then sighs. "No, cryogenics likely won't help us. If we're dying, then us getting frozen into suspended animation will either kill us first or simply delay the inevitable." She narrows her eyes. "We need to find some way to get our bodies back and us back to normal /without/ accepting into their demands." Yeah, she doesn't like the set terms-and-conditions at all. "I am willing to fight, Magnus!" A child's voice is heard as a blonde haired boy enters the room, green eyes looking about. He looks to be about eight or ten years old at the oldest, straight blonde hair and fair skin. "So, what is the plan exactly?" Rhiannon Slim-Dhance shakes her head at Powerglide. "Nonono, this is BETTER Powerglide, though because of /Cliffjumper/ I will need a change of clothes, which he now has to find for me!" She points at him like he was Hitler. "Also yeah, Magnus, that small child will save us, panic over!" Cliffjumper ignores Rhiannon, staring at the child. "Wait, you guys are breeding already? I mean -- isn't that a little unfair to the kid, here?" Powell Glyde looks very, very dissapointed at Raindance's response. "Oh...You sure? I mean, the offer's always there if you chance your mind-Uh, I mean, OH! Really? What?" Ulysses M. Agnus. nodded in ackniowledgement to Cliffjumper, even with Peacekeeper's following warning it was a option worth taking into consideration. More arrive and Magnus is asked a question that they all know the answer to, "We fight.. like we always have." Rhiannon Slim-Dhance shows a grin and then gives Powerglide's ear a quick rub and then pinch as she wanders to the exit. "C'mon, dress smart. And Cliffjumper - /clothes/!" "Guys...It's me...Bumblebee." The child says, watching them. "Jetfire and I turned ourselves into humans to track where exactly it is taken. Of course it seems like it was not needed." He says as he looks about. Powell Glyde flails a bit, but follows behind her because he is completely whipped ): "You /named the kid Bumblebee/?" Cliffjumper gapes. "What happens when the /real/ Bumblebee finds out?!" Joe Bumble sighs and looks to Cliffjumper. "I AM the REAL Bumblebee..." He says, sounding somewhat annoyed. "Why is it even as a human I am the smallest thing here..." He says, shaking his head. He then looks to Ulyssess M. Agnus. "I want to be involved also. Dont think because I am small again dont mean I cant." '''Adelaide's ''This place might say 'Adelaide's' on the front but to anyone who's ever been there, it is 'The Cuntwaffe.' As Chinatown's premier neo-Nazi lesbian social club, there is a refined, orderly air, except for the whole place reeks of spilled drinks and sweaty buzzcuts. All the women are like 230 lbs. and swastika banners are everywhere. The DJ booth on the poorly-lit dancefloor plays nothing but KMFDM and Insane Clown Posse, and the food tastes like urine because they urinate on everything. Also, a fucking Corona is eight dollars. After the horrible incident involving several billion gallons of sticky liquid, Rhiannon is clean again and wearing her best clothes. Her best clothes are a pink t-shirt with a rainbow menorah on it, flares with a studded belt that says 'JESUS ROCKS!' and a pair of dainty shoes. She walks into The Cuntwaffe with a grin. "Now guys see, I put this advert on the internet tubes asking for what humans call a 'hot date'. This will both solve YOUR problem Powerglide, and help me to learn more about human society!" The Rev. SSgt. Sky Lynx F. McKeacepeeker, Esq., PhD follows Rhiannon into the club, still wearing a white Valentino gown that seems more appropriate for something like the Oscars or at least a Beverly Hills prom. "Why did I have to come?" Powell Glyde sort of stumbles in behind Rhiannon and the obnoxiously named Kiera Knightley lookalike. He was sort of clean (he splashed around in a water fountain for a bit) and he was wearing somewhat decent clothes for once (decent meaning they were on clearance at Goodwill). "What," he deadpans. Outside, a screech of tires announces the arrival of a tuned muscle car. This time, though, the aggressive lines of the front fender and grill most definitely do not snap through the metal 'Take Out Only 15 Min' sign. The glossy navy blue door flies open, and the bumpin' sounds of only the finest of Latin hip-hop, Calle 13, cut off. Rhiannon, if she has a view of any part of the parking lot from her spot, might recognize the carbon footprint menace outlined in silver rally stripes on the hood, as well as the terror that tumbles out the door and right on up to the restaurant/bar/dive/oh god it's expensive establishment, and HEYS a bit to herself. Propping hands on hips, the Latina can't help but tap one combat booted foot to the ultra heavy beats of the 11 millionth remix of KMFDM's 'Light' to be playing this evening. Gabresilassie Trumbo is looking sharp in a suit and hat thanks mainly to having Cyclonus to design his outfits. Who knew Cyclonus had a 94 in SRT (for Sartorial) as well as in everything else? He leaves a pair of Swindle's goons at the door as he strides in like he owns the place. Galvatron and his entourage look terribly out of place among all the Indigo Girls early-adopters as he looks around with eyes narrowed. His contact has to be in here somewhere. They responded to his ad for plutonium on Craigslist, after all. Rhiannon Slim-Dhance skips over to Galvatron in giddy excitement. "Oooh you must be MrCannon69!" she squeals, leaning in to try to hug the intergalactic warlord, as the conspiritially whispers to her companions. "He says he wants my plutonium deposits, I'm well in!" She runs to the bar, beckoning at a table. "Welcome welcome, everyone, sit down, lets have a round of..." she looks at the menu "...muff gluggers..." As The Hon. Rev. SSgt. Sky Lynx F. McKeacepeeker, Esq., PhD tries to join Rhiannon in moving toward the table, she's stopped by a giant bear of a woman getting in her path. The woman is dressed exactly like Franz from 'The Producers' and looks a lot like him too, but her voice sounds mostly like Jeremy Piven smoking too much. "Hi there, doll," she says, leaning in Hot Spot's path. "The girls 'round here call me 'Yeti.'" Gabresilassie Trumbo clears his throat as he is hugged, and adjusts his lapels, glancing around warily at the humans in case any of them are EDC spies, or worse, Autobots in 'disguise.' "And you must be Lonelycheatingwife4SFfffffun." He pronounces the extra fs like they look. Fffffffff. "Is this location secure?" "If you mean the fuckin' federales," a large woman says to Galvatron, lifting her shirt to expose a gun tucked into her jeans, "We're all packin'." Powell Glyde tugs on the collar of his red shirt which sports a picture of a badly drawn squirrel and the sentence 'CAN'T TOUCH DEEZ NUTS' on it (which was only 25 cents for being absolutely terrible). "What's a plutonium deposit? Do you even have those? This is dumb." He quickly makes his way over to where Rhiannon is so he can easily turn a blind eye to Hot Spot's plight. Rhiannon Slim-Dhance slips a book out of her pocket as she sits down, entitled 'Dating For Complete and Utter Beginners'. She then takes a big gulp of her Muff Glugger and grins. "Uuuh, its as secure as you want!" she grins, trying to kick Galvatron in the shins. She ignores the huge woman about to do a 'Nepsa' on McKeacepeeker, because... really. "Did you bring anyone for my friends?" She grudgingly points at Powerglide, not really wanting to associate with him There's the sound of a quick slap followed by a shrill 'yeeeek!' from the direction of the door as Fuscienne shuffles in, back ramrod straight and pigeon-toed after being on the receiving end of some unwanted attention from the other team's linebacker. With brow furrowed, she quickly hsssts to the entirely too thin hostess sporting the lipstick heroin chic to get her a table please and thank you. She quickly begins scanning the proffered menu aiming for the highest percent number of intoxicant, mumbling and growling to herself the entire while as she snaps open a cell phone. "Langholm? No wait wait wait don't hang up I'm sorry about the paint thing! Yeah, can you tell me if anyone else is in or around this area?" "Well, 'cause it was Scra-- your brother's idea!" She wrinkles her snub nose, and casts a bristly glance around the establishment. Cathrin Sturm is in a car with someone she doesn't know but who is actually Frenzy. Either of these things is dumb, but getting into a car with Frenzy might actually be dumber than getting into a car with a stranger. As the car gets up to speed, Cathrin can't help but protest, "But this isn't actually fast!" Uhm, oops. Of course, it's fast to a human who has never felt the sound barrier just shatter and be left weeping in the distance. Then, she stabs a hand at the windshield, as if that will do any good, and shouts, "That's a building! And not a car wash or, uh... thingy. Drive-through! Not a drive-through!" Gabresilassie Trumbo gestures to his legbreakers and thugs and general bad news compatriots, including the knife-wielding gum-snapping Puerto Rican or whatever she is. "I thought ahead, yes, but hopefully our people won't be needed and we can conduct this business civilly. What do you want for the material?" Powell Glyde stands next to where Rhiannon is sitting, his eyes darting around every which way, trying desperatly to take in what exactly he was looking at. Where these humans male or were they female? Maybe they were a new hybrid of both? It was all very confusing. The constantly looping, never ending monstrosity that this place considered music began to grind on his nerves. Rhiannon Slim-Dhance makes a clicking noise in the direction of Fusillade. "Hey, Power, that one's yours, okay!" she grins as she picks up the menu, fanning herself with it as she looks at Galvatron. "Just make sure McKeacepeeker doesn't get dragged into a yeti cave or whatever it is that happens in these places." She turns back to Galvatron with a smile, circling a finger on the table, leaving a greasy smear on the surface. "I dunno, what have you got?" "WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Flann Saxon hoots on the top of his lungs, relishing both in the straining burn on his vocal cords and the wind rushing around him. The ride he pilots, a two-seat convertible with its top down and a riot-cherry finish, launches off a ramp and exits the highway proper. Four tires collide with pavement near-masterfully, sending its occupants rocking within. "Hahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaa..." Flann laughs madly, the sheer deranged glow of his eyes hidden by his mirrorshades. If there's one amazing thing about being famous, he has realized, is that his joyrides are punished with slaps on his wrist and so long as he mentions something about praying about it, are quickly forgotten. Oh the joys of being meat and not Decepticon tonight. With a sudden jerk of the wheel, the red number cuts through a gap between two cars and slides onto the sidewalk, briefly, before settling back on the road. "SO!" Flann exclaims loudly, "..what's your name? My name's S--- oh hold that thought!" He slams on the brakes, causing his vehicle to screech in loud protest as it comes to a sudden halt. Turning the wheel the other way, he shifts the clutch into reverse and guns it in reverse .. right into a proper drive-through! "Fancy a rootybeer, darling?" Gabresilassie Trumbo eyes the menu as if it might be poisonous. "Money, of course; American dollars, British pounds sterling, euros, yen, et cetera. But you might find that a favor would suit you better. My people are exceptionally good at putting your competition out of business in a manner that redefines the word 'permanent.' And the words 'collateral damage,' but that's neither here nor there. I assume you must have competition." Cathrin Sturm starts, "I'm..." Then she makes a short hissing noise. Rootybeer? What in Straxus's name is that? She rubs her face. Is this how Stunticons drive? Cathrin settles on, "I'm fine." Powell Glyde was staring at a swastika-laden banner like a brain washed child untill Rhiannon caught his attention. He looks over to the woman she had pointed out, only to look away with an expression of absolute terror carved onto his face. The sound of squealing tires not her own? Fuscienne frowns as she glances up over the edge of the menu, "Aw hell naw they'd better not ding up my ride, I just got that thing." She's pretty busy straining to raise her shortness over the windowsill and heads of the patrons to ensure the safety of the Charger SRT8 before she double-takes at the resonant basso and the venomously militant glares it attracts from every corner of the establishment. "Wait, what?" She barely pays attention as the Harbor's Crescent Fishmilk is plunked down in front of her. Tilting o flipping one pigtail over her shoulder, she closes the cell phone and fixes the entire party with a dubious expression. "I... don't think he's going for it, you might need to take him down to The Heretic or The Gryphon down a ways," she jerks a thumb over her shoulder. Rhiannon Slim-Dhance sneaks up her book behind the menu. "'If he offers you money...'" she reads, muttering under her breath. And then her eyes widen. "How DARE you!" she shouts, standing up and aiming a slap at Galvatron's face. "MONEY? For my precious uranium deposits. You won't even get near the mountains where they are located or find the deep valley for that!" Her face turns red. It isn't anger, its the drink having its corrosive effect Gabresilassie Trumbo evades your grasp attack. Suddenly, Flann Saxon jolts up like someone just stuck a gun into his spine. "Abupbupbup!" Flann motions with his finger to silence Cathrin after she acknowledges being fine. He gives himself a pat down, going from pectoral to stomach to pocket.. and then with a sudden look of realization, reaching into the pocket of his jacket. It's his mobile and it's vibrating like mad. Flipping it open with his thumb, he places it to his ear and purrs out, "Saxon." There is a bit of a pause, as he intently hears what is being said through his mobile. Lifting his brows up once or twice, and then nodding intently, as someone in the drive-thru window begins reaching out to offer Flann something. He doesn't seem to be paying attention. Gabresilassie Trumbo rocks back in his chair to avoid the slap and stands up angrily, levelling an imperious finger at Rhiannon. "If money doesn't suit you then NAME your PRICE! I will not be toyed with!" Rhiannon Slim-Dhance sits down again, peeking into her book. "Okay then. A nice meal, some pleasant company and some nice clothes." She leans back in her chair in triumph, picking up an ashtray and throwing it at the head of the gawping Powerglide, in an attempt to stop him reproducing again, because, really, /no-one/ wants that Raindance succeeds in grasping Powell Glyde, throwing it off-balance. The ash-tray is made of lead :( Cathrin Sturm just stares over at Saxon when he shushes her and crosses her arms, leaning back. It appears that the other human is trying to give them stuff. Cathrin would mention this, but she was just shushed. Gabresilassie Trumbo arches his brow skeptically, removing his hat to run his hand over his smooth pate. "Is that... it? You don't even want anyone killed?" Powell Glyde had actually begun to pick his nose the moment Rhiannon decided to be a crazy bitch and beat him over the head with a random object. Without even the slightest sound to acknowledge that he was hit, Powerglide falls flat onto his face. Maybe he'll get a concussion. Rhiannon Slim-Dhance looks across at Powerglide, pondering, then back at Galvatron. She peeks into her book again. "No-ooo, I don't think so, though perhaps that can come later." Her eyes read something about 'making the Earth move' and she flicks her eyes up. "Um, you have an earthquake generator, of /course/" "Yes, of course I have every intention of running the story tomorrow." Flann says into his phone. "Of -course- the very idea of Autobots being human is as ridiculous as evil Norwegian monarchs being deposed from their evil Norwegian monarchies. Yet, truth is stranger than fiction and the proof is in the pudding. Banana pudding, really. Oh, pardon.." Flann looks at Cathrin and asks, "Sorry, would you care for a nice banana pudding?" The drive-thru attendant is still trying to offer something. Fuscienne de Lada is somehow convinced that this will result in another round of running through alleys with dogthings snapping at her heels, slashing palms open on razorwire and eventually getting maced or tased. She bolts. "I'll... hmm." Galvatron has to think about that one. DOES he have an earthquake generator? "I'll have to get back to you on that, I don't believe I do right now, but that's not entirely out of the question." "Oh." Rhiannon looks rather upset at this. "Well. That kinda puts a downer on things." She pauses, looking at her book again. "Um... what sort of things do youlike then? I like walks in the park, merging with my brother, and setting hobos on fire." She idly throws a lit match in the direction of the downed Powerglide Raindance succeeds in grasping Powell Glyde, throwing it off-balance. As Powell Glyde falls, a Junkion named E.V.A.B.R.A.W.N. who looks like a nazi girl Brawn and who can only be accepted here steps on Powell. :( Cathrin Sturm unbuckles the seatbelt with some difficulty, fiddles with the door, and manages to get it open. She then exits the car, as if it is something that everyone does every day, and walks over to the drive-through menu to check it. She calls over to Saxon, "They don't sell banana pudding here." "Well," begins Galvatron, "I enjoy driving my enemies before me and hearing the lamentations of- wait, doing what with your brother? Say that again." Rhiannon Slim-Dhance looks at Galvatron innocently. "Merging. We turn into this crazy multilimbed thing. We've not been able to do that recently though due to uh..." she pauses, realising she might blow her cover as a Transformer "...uh medical issues." Powell Glyde is stepped on by an even manlier Brawn. He didn't think that was even possible! He's about to just lay there and sleep this nightmare away, but Rhiannon had to go and show off her favorite hobby. He immediatly jumps up, runs to every single club patron, and asks them to spit on him so the flames don't destroy his terribly awesome shirt. A clubgoer spits a mouthful of vodka onto Powell. Another clubgoer spits a mouthful of petrol at Powell A third clubgoer spits a steady stream of gravel at him. Gabresilassie Trumbo peers across the table at the bizarre human girl. "You're a Transformer, aren't you. From one of the Special Teams." Vortex, maybe? Vortex is looney enough. "Vortex?" A fourth clubgoer has no lower jaw / lip with which to spit on Powell because they chewed tobacco from age seven. So she settles for throwing billiard balls at him. "Ridiculous!" Flann shouts into his phone. "Human-Autobots are true. I have a source. A very reliable source. Who is my source? Journalist's integrity, mate. Cannot say! Now get off this phone before they track this signal, find out where you live, and eat your girlfriend's brain!" Just as he clicks the phone off, he turns to catch Cathrin standing outside by the drive-thru menu. Well, Flann reckons. She's about as fun as listening to Soundwave give instruction on quantum mechanics. If anyone was privy to Flann's thoughts, they would suddenly realize why Frenzy and Rumble flunked out of the Decepticon Engineering Academy. It had nothing to do with the chest-plate raids in the femme dormitory. Honest. Staring at Cathrin through his mirrorshades, an evil suddenly comes over Flann. As he stomps on the accelerator, he reaches out and slaps his open hand against Cathrin's backside. "I'M FAMOUS!!" Flann Saxon hollars as he rides off, honking his horn enthusiastically. Powell Glyde quickly realizes that the club goers are no help, so he leaps into a massive aquarium that was convieniently placed in the bar. It was filled with only the most german of fish. Rhiannon Slim-Dhance bats her eyelids and fans herself with the menu. "Oh bless you, I am special, aren't I?" In a horrific move sure to scar everyone for life, she moves her hand across the table to try to place it on Galvatron's own. "So... tell me what you want to do with my plutonium deposits, while I order us some dinner." She flicks out her EDC card and flashes it, calling over a waiter. "Two plates of 'Man-Chowder' please!" Famous just means that it's easier to track down where he lives and blow the entire complex sky-high. "I want to jacket a conventional explosive with them in order to create a cloud of radioactive debris to kill the humans," replies Galvatron, "but this has gone far enough, I think! You can't possibly be a Decepticon, so by process of elimination this must be a trap! Decepticons, retreat!" One of the german fish has a little moustache, and tries to eat Powell's head! Gabresilassie Trumbo flips the table over as he gets up and retreats, firing a submachinegun wildly at no one in particular. Powell Glyde goes against the mustached fish in vicious hand-to-hand combat. The fish have guns, because this is the future. They open fire. "You can't destroy the world!" Rhiannon perks up. "That's where I keep all my stuff!" She is knocked over by the toppling table as she curses like a sailor. A /robot/ sailor. "Nnnn Powerglide, stop sleeping with the fishes and /get him/!" she shouts, grabbing a wall-mounted harpoon and shooting it through the fishtank glass as a motivator Powell Glyde evades your grasp attack. Unfortunately, though, all their guns shoot oil, so they Exxon-Valdez themselves to death. Powell Glyde jumps out of the fish tank because he doesn't want to get oil all over his clothes (he paid a whole dollar for this outfit!) He goes to run after Galvatron, but he trips over the fallen harpoon and skids face first into a wall. On top of the wall is a shelf. This shelf holds a display jar of tar, and also a display jar of live bees. Both of them shatter and fall onto Powerglide Powell Glyde had a short stint as a Cybertronian Bee Keeper, so he knows exactly what to do in this situation; he pulls out a hive trap, rigs it with bait, and hangs it from a lamp. Within seconds the bees attention is redirected to the trap and they are later safely moved to another, more stable habitat. As for the tar, well, it splashes all over the place ): Rhiannon Slim-Dhance then sadly passes out, pinned under the table, sprawled like a drunken Sky Lynx Powell Glyde runs over to Rhiannon and rubs the excess tar onto her face. Ha! Powerglide succeeds in grasping Rhiannon Slim-Dhance, throwing her off-balance. Rhiannon Slim-Dhance looks like she is going to be killing Powerglide when she awakens Powell Glyde looks around a bit before reaching out to cop a feel. Powerglide succeeds in grasping Rhiannon Slim-Dhance, throwing her off-balance. Rhiannon Slim-Dhance twitches in her unconsciousness, a nerve impulse, almost natural, causing her knee to raise suddenly to smack Powerglide in the groin. Also she stuffed her bra with mousetraps :( Raindance succeeds in grasping Powell Glyde, throwing it off-balance. Powell Glyde is mousetrapped and then kneed in the baby makers for a thrid time. He responds by slapping Raindance in the face ):< You evade Powell Glyde's grasp attack. Powell Glyde just randomly slaps at the air, then. Rhiannon Slim-Dhance sleeps like a baby as Powerglide dances above her Powell Glyde says 'f' it to slapping and tries a full on punch to her gut ): Powerglide succeeds in grasping Rhiannon Slim-Dhance, throwing her off-balance. As Rhiannon is punched, her body (still asleep) doubles up, head aiming to headbutt Powerglide in the face Raindance succeeds in grasping Powell Glyde, throwing it off-balance. Powell Glyde is knocked unconcious from the impact and passes out ontop of Raindance. Maybe he'll smother her )< Powerglide succeeds in grasping Rhiannon Slim-Dhance, throwing her off-balance. Just then, the FBI bursts in and arrests everyone, including Hot Spot, who was running, screaming and weeping and clutching her dress to her nude body, from one of the back rooms. Luckily, a ceiling spike falls down, on target to piece Powerglide thus making a breathing hole for Rhiannon to breathe through Raindance succeeds in grasping Powell Glyde, throwing it off-balance. Powell Glyde bleeds all over Raindance, but he has the last laugh because he has AIDs. Rhiannon Slim-Dhance is the only person in the world resistant to AIDS :) This means Powerglide gets DOUBLE AIDS Powell Glyde arghs as his player punches their younger sister's face in frustration.